The Sports Car Strut

Hey, How y’all doin’? If you’re a Marine reading this, Happy Birthday to ya! A couple of my youngins are Marines. They are my odd children. By that I mean they came out first and third. Not on the same day, of course, Darla would have slapped me silly if that had happened.

So this week Darla and me went shoppin’ again. Not noplace special, just walkin’ along the old part of town. Lots of them shops have closed, but new ones keep openin’ up. Well, this convertible pulls up. The top is down ’cause the driver is enjoyin’ the last gasps of warm weather ’round these part. That’s when I innocently noticed this blond woman drivin’. Now I try to avoid these sorts of things on account of believin’ Darla will kill me in my sleep if she catches me.

I reckon I wasn’t practicin’ too much self-control because I sort looked a bit too long for my own good. Now it wasn’t my fault. She had that kind of hair that’s so blond it’s almost white. It was wrapped up in a ponytail that went halfway down her back. Not that I was measurin’ none, it just was that long. She had on one of those sundresses that you never see in November, ‘less it’s a warm day.

Well, I guess Darla noticed by this point, and I hear her clearin’ her throat like she has bronchitis or a hairball. I knew right then I was in deep. Darla asks me if I think she’s a bit young. Of course, I think I’m funny and I tell her she’s over twenty so I reckon not. That’s when the back of her gentle hand smacks me in the chest the first time. I gotta say, there’s a lot of power in those grandma arms. I glanced at the convertible, ’cause I was concerned about my manhood for some stupid reason, and feel plumb pleased the blond stranger didn’t notice.

Well, sir, I guess somethin’ grabbed hold of me that just weren’t thinkin’. I look over indignant at Darla and ask her why she hit me for admiring that convertible. She knows I’ll ogle more over a hot sports car than any woman these days. She gives me a sideways glance and shakes her head. I smile ’cause I reckon I won. Least I almost did.

Wouldn’t you know, that blond got out of her sports car while me and Darla was talkin’, and then she had the nerve to start struttin’ in front of us. She had on these high heels. Now there are two things I have a weakness for, and one of them is high heels. I admire her strut down the old sidewalk when this rock, in the shape of a fist, hits me in the chest so hard I has to take a step back.

I am rubbin’ my chest lookin’ shocked at Darla. ‘Course I’m just stallin’ for time so I can think of somethin’ to get me out of this mess. I’m ’bout to open my mouth when Darla says, “The sports car is back there.” Sometimes you just have to take your lumps or bumps. I give her a sheepish grin and lower my head. She just shakes her head at me and laughs. I was relieved, didn’t want to have to sleep in the barn again. I learned my lesson though. Make sure I take Lukus into town on a warm day instead of Darla.

Y’all be good.


The Daily Post: Strut

 



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